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send word to the glue factory So much for faith in mechanics, the grease. As long as the pump keeps chugging and the engine slurs its vowels in baby talk, then life is good. Forget awry—it doesn’t fit in the lexicon. The hysterical has gone comic. Even then outburst meant bitten tongue (keep it in, don’t spoil supper). Put a little elbow into it. All this digging for China with plastic yellow shovels and no vision is going to grace us, no word from either ether-world. He’s got passivity shoved in his gullet. She’s got beauty in fits, thinness draping her bones. I could say steady all night long. Add a pinch of love to it. The brain rushes with its crash and can’t get up. The whip of it keeps us panting, the sting-swell keeps us from asking for more. 14 ...

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